Scar Tissue
by LizAna
Summary: A Charloe one-shot based around 2x18 because I think Connor is going to die and Charlie comforting Monroe is so much fun. Sorry, no hard core Charloe action, just lots of angst :)


_A/N - Hello! Yes, its b__een a while since I posted and I haven't finished that other story I was writing, Reunions and Revelations... I may get back to that at some stage, but I'm SOOOO busy at the moment._**  
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_Anyway, I just had to write this one-shot scene because I totally think Connor is the one who is going to be killed in next week's episode (prove me wrong, Revolution writers!) which will be sad because although I seriously dislike the whole Charlie/Connor thing, I do love Baby-Bass in all his awesomeness. However, if he does die, it could totally be YAY!CHARLOE! time, so I'll look on the bright side. If Connor does die, the writers better do something like this between Charlie and Monroe... _

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"He's been out there for hours, shouldn't someone go and talk to him?" Charlie crossed her arms, only just able to make out the shadowed figure of Monroe crouched next to the mound of dirt in the midnight darkness of the field.

"And say what to him?" Miles murmured, tension threaded through his voice. "His kid is dead, Charlie. Possibly the single thing keeping him from turning back into psychotic-dictator-Bass, who we all loved _so_ much, has been taken away from him. Personally I don't want a front row seat for that train wreck. When he's ready, he'll come back."

"And what then?" Her mom interjected without a hint of sympathy. "He'll go on some murderous rampage that gets the rest of us killed?"

"Mom—" Charlie shook her head, antagonism burning through her. She couldn't even come up with a reply to her mom's bitching.

Rachel crossed her arms, expression stubborn and not the least bit apologetic. "I'm just saying what everyone is thinking, Charlie. Right now, Monroe is like a grenade with the pin pulled out. Its only a matter of time before he explodes and takes the rest of us out along with him."

Charlie threw out an arm in Monroe's general direction, exasperation adding to her frustration. "Which is why someone should go talk him down."

Miles shook his head, shooting a brief glance at Monroe before pulling a flask from his jacket and unscrewing the lid.

"Just leave him be, kiddo."

Miles took a drink from the flask, before nodding at her mom. The two of them walked off toward the camp they'd made in the scattering of trees at the far end of the field. Light flickered from the numerous fires, while the rise and fall of conversation from what was left of Duncan's men drifted on the evening breeze. She couldn't go back to that right now. She'd tried not to let herself care for Connor, because she'd known that sooner, rather than later, one or both of them was going to end up dead. And it didn't make her feel any better to know she'd been right on that score. His death should have been one more added to the long list already scarring her soul, but for some reason this time it was different.

Not because she'd cared deeply for Connor, but because it mattered to _him_. She sighed as she sat on an overturned water trough, keeping her gaze trained on Monroe. She clasped her hands together, repeating Miles' words over and over. She should let him be, leave him to grieve. Monroe could be a cold son of a bitch at the best of times, so only god knew what was going through that head of his now. But she just couldn't do it any longer, couldn't sit here and leave him alone by the grave of the kid he'd gone to so much trouble to find.

She pushed to her feet and took a fortifying breath, calling herself ten kinds of idiot as she walked over to him. At some stage he'd lit a fire nearby, but the flames had long died down to glowing embers, so she spent a few moments adding wood and stoking the flames before turning to look at him.

Monroe had his hand braced against his mouth, his eyes were red-rimmed, but dry now. She'd seen his tears earlier, at sunset when they'd laid Connor to rest. Monroe hadn't tried to hide them; in his grief, it was as though no one else existed.

"When was the last time you ate?"

He glanced up at her, before returning his attention to the mound of dirt.

"What does it matter?" He returned, his voice devoid of emotion.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the apple she'd saved earlier. She'd been keeping it for breakfast, but now it didn't seem so important.

"Here." She held it out for him, but he didn't make a move to take it, or answer. "Okay then. I'll just leave it here for when you do decide you're hungry."

She stepped over and set the fruit down next to where he'd discarded his swords… on top of Connor's jacket and gun holster.

"What do you want, Charlie?"

His abrupt question yanked her from where she'd almost gotten sucked into the horribleness of what had happened. Yeah, Connor had been a great guy, but she'd spent too much time mourning people in the past two years, she couldn't afford to fall back into that dark place. Fighting was what kept her going; it was her lifeline and the one thing she could control.

"Nothing, I just came over to see if you were okay." She moved to sit down between him and the fire.

Monroe gave a short laugh, though the sound held no humor. He turned to look at her, and the expression sent chills down her spine, reminding her of Miles' words about Monroe turning back into psychotic-dictator-Bass.

"You came to see if I was okay. That's almost funny." The dark humor vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared. "My son is dead, Charlie. Do you think I'm okay right now? The only family I had left in this world, and I got him killed. Just like everyone else I've ever loved. Tell me which part of that is okay."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, hurting for him, but starting to think she should have listened to Miles' advice to let Monroe be.

"Are you? Is that because you lost your easy lay?"

Charlie shoved to her feet, anger and humiliation spearing through her. "Screw you, Monroe. You want to lash out, make someone hurt like you're hurting, that's fine, but you're not going to take it out on me."

She turned and took two steps, anger at herself and Monroe's typical bastard streak coming through loud and clear.

"Yeah, that's right, Charlie. Walk away from me, just like you did in the Plains Nation, just like Miles always does. Its not like I've never done anything for you."

She stopped, and got even more pissed at herself for taking the bait he was so apparently dangling.

"So now this is about you and me?" She turned back to face him and crossed her arms.

Monroe pulled a half-empty bottle from somewhere and rose to his feet. "I don't know, you tell me."

He took a swig of whatever was in the bottle, his movements not exactly steady.

"I shouldn't have come over here, this is ridiculous."

"Oh yeah, this must be ridiculous." He gestured with the bottle, walking closer to her. "I mean, it's got to be ridiculous that I might actually be upset over losing my son, right? That I might actually have a heart that could love some one, that could mourn my own flesh and blood. What was it you accused me of?"

He stopped not two steps from her, a crooked, cynical smile flashing over his face. "Oh that's right. I'm a sociopath. I say what I need, to get what I want. I think you also called me delusional."

Charlie glanced away from him, her own words stinging her as he threw them back at her. Yeah, she'd said those things, and she wouldn't take them back. But maybe she could now admit that Monroe wasn't as black and white as she'd made him out to be.

"So thanks for that," he continued, pausing to take another drink from the bottle. "Thanks for telling me who I really am, because otherwise having to bury my son might have really burned me. But since I'm a delusional sociopath with no feelings whatsoever, I'll just finish this bottle here and be on my way."

"Monroe, don't—" She reached out for him, not really thinking about the action until she'd already done it, but he pulled out of her grip.

"No," he pointed a finger at her, taking an unsteady step back. "You don't get to give me any sympathy, you don't get to feel sorry for me. I killed half your family, right? So isn't this what I deserve? No guesses needed to know that's what your mom thinks, Miles too, probably."

He threw his arms out to the side, sloshing some of the liquid out of the bottle. "I killed people's kids, Charlie, and now my chickens have come home to roost."

Monroe gave another humorless laugh, backing up a few more steps, but his feet shuffled into the mounded dirt of Connor's grave and he lost his balance, sinking to his knees on the edge of the burial. He dropped the bottle and hung his head, shoulders bunching as he took a ragged breath. "Is this what I deserve?"

Charlie's heart pounded against her aching ribs, throat tightening to the point of cutting off all her air. She hadn't cried since— actually, she couldn't remember the last time she'd let even a single tear escape. But seeing Monroe like that, broken and battered in ways she understood all too well, it was like ripping open scar tissue.

She walked over and knelt down next to him, not letting herself think, because if she did, she'd lose all courage, remind herself of who this was and why she should have just kept walking away.

Instead, she slowly raised her hand and touched his shoulder. Monroe tensed under her touch, but turned toward her. And then somehow they had their arms around one another. Monroe buried his face in her neck, and the hot wetness of his tears scalded her skin.

"Everyone leaves me," Monroe whispered raggedly.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, sending a shiver cascading down her spine. She'd said those exact words to Miles after Maggie had died. But Monroe couldn't have known that, and it left her wondering just what Fate was playing she tightened her hold on him, not knowing how else to offer comfort.

"I won't leave you," she murmured, even though she knew it was a promise she couldn't keep. There was a very real possibility that next week she'd be the one in the ground. But in this moment, right or wrong, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else than in the arms of Sebastian Monroe.


End file.
